#Wandering Tofu | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sakkiichi · 2 years ago

Text

CASTLES CRUMBLING.

Memories of you are both cathartic and painful when he visits your grave.

ft. Kaedehara Kazuha, Xiao, Scaramouche/Wanderer, Lyney, Neuvillette x gn! reader.

cw/genre: angst.

if you enjoy this, reblogs and comments help more than likes !

✧ KAEDEHARA KAZUHA

Autumn. The time of year that brought warm memories to the wandering samurai despite its chilly winds.

Shades of scarlet coated Inazuma’s grassy plains, like a rain constituted by droplets of dawn light when the maple leaves swayed to the ground.

And amidst this scene, you.

You, who danced to the tune of the foliage floating in the breeze; you, who snuggled his red scarf closer around your neck when he wrapped it around you, taking in his sweet cinnamon-like scent; you, whose hand used to fit perfectly in his, as you ran your thumb over the scarred skin under his bandages.

Kazuha finds himself staring at those now. He remembers all too well how you used to wrap them around his hand. Your lips brushed over every indentation in his burnt skin, overwriting storms with sunlight and blue skies.

“All healed now.” You sing-sang, the tenderness of your kiss over the wrapped scars.

It feels empty now, his grasp, still searching for you every morning, but you’re out of reach.

Even now, as the wandering poet’s head rests against you, he can’t quite feel your touch.

“Hello, my dove.” He begins, fingers brushing over the dendrobiums surrounding you. Moondust lashes kiss his cheeks when the sunsets in his stare cloud over, the image of your smiling face behind his lids. “It’s already autumn, remember how you called it our season, my angel?” He softly says, turning his head slightly, so that his forehead partially leans on you. “The leaves are turning red already, I’ve picked some for you.” Kazuha utters, as he gently threads them around the stone.

Hard. Cold. So unlike the warmth you radiated. He sighs, opening his eyes, tender hearths to warm your paralyzed heart.

“I’ve been writing too…” Dampness pools around his lashes. “Haikus, poems, because I know you love them, hummingbird…” The samurai’s voice cracks, vision blurry, as he traces the letters of the name he used to breathe in between kisses.

Your name. The only one that will forever echo through his sweetest dreams, double edged now.

Droplets of molten moonlight slide down Kazuha’s cheeks, colliding with the earth separating you from the world.

“We will meet again, my dove.” He vows, kneeling on the grass, moist by his tears. “In some corner of the next life. I promise, love.”

As he stands up, retracing his steps, the wind picks up.

Kazuha clutches his red scarf closer to him.

Your scent still lingers.

✧ XIAO

Spring had never felt so cold.

The sun over Liyue’s mountains is too dull; the glaze lilies appear closed off; the days feel too long.

The conqueror of demons makes his way through Guili Plains, his steps slow, as if that would keep away a cruel reality that’s set in stone.

He’s coming to meet you, and yet he’s never felt so far away from you.

In the few steps that separate the yaksha from you, an infinity of memories and bittersweet dreams seem to wash over him. They mingle with the scent of morning dew over qingxins bloomed anew.

Qingxin. What he used to call you.

“Xiaooo!” You cooed, a smile sweeter than the treat you offered him alight on your lips. “Dessert’s ready, love.” You called, offering him the plate of delicious almond tofu.

It was always his favorite, especially the one made by you.

His cheeks took on a tint not unlike the lipstick marks you left on him when you felt like teasing him, peppering his face with your honeyed kisses. You always used to chuckle at the sight.

“Qingxin…” his voice quivered, in awe, gaze of gold widened, sparkly. “There is no need for you to go through this trouble for me…”

“Nonsense!” You cut him off, hands cradling his cheeks. “I love making your favorite food for you, baby.”

Now he brings one of his own scarred hands to his face.

It’s so cold in comparison to your comforting warmth.

Yet even colder is the grey hue of the heavy stone that comes into view: the one marking the spot where you were laid to rest for good.

Slowly, resigned to the inevitability of reality, the vigilant yaksha reaches you.

Even though he knows he will no longer have you.

Xiao’s whole form trembles when he leaves the handmade butterfly over your gravestone. Its petal wings are all crooked, his grip vice-like in his anguish.

Now the flower-made insect will never fly again. A crystal bubble, lit up on his darkest nights, inside which dreams warm and sweet were recounted, as long as the adeptus stayed in your embrace; now shattered, only sharp fragments left to pierce his heart.

“I’m sorry…” is all the demon conqueror can manage as greeting, the moment he sits before you, head hung low.

The karma he bears had never crushed him this badly.

✧ SCARAMOUCHE

Winter squalls leave nothing but ashes behind.

The layers of snow have started melting, decrepit twigs following, the aftermath of a furious gale, death in its wake.

The wanderer seems to verse in the bony hands of it often, after all. This life, this world… they only ever took from him, shattered mirrors as the only remains of promises to never come.

He rests the back of his head on the frigid stone. He doesn’t care about the last remains of snow seeping into his very crafted bones.

Scaramouche’s hand closes into a fist, dirt and melted ice on his skin.

“They took you away too…” The puppet breathes, inexistent puffs of his words sifting against the blackened skies in the cold. His indigo gaze is clouded over, despite stars littering every corner of the midnight above.

A lie.

Make believe. Like thinking he could be happy for once.

Turning around, Scaramouche presses his forehead against what’s left to symbolize you.

“Why?” He asks, teeth gritted, to stop the helpless quiver of his lip. “Why you too?”

The softness of your human embrace takes ahold of his memories, as you both lay beneath the endless firmament above.

“Have you ever wished upon a star, Kuni?” You asked, your warm fingers combing through the distant nights contained in his shiny locks.

“Pft, are you serious?” He used to retort, the mirrored galaxies of his stare coming into view as his eyelids opened.

“Very.” You stated, without stopping your movements, eyes never leaving the starfields above.

“Why?” He asked, focused on your profile, as if a part of him knew how ephemeral instants like this would become, committing to memory the only constellation that lit up his hollow heart.

“Because it’s nice, to hope, to believe in things… wouldn’t you agree?” You smiled down at him, tender hands cradling the coolness of his jawline.

“Huh, if you say so…”

“You know I’m right!” You chuckled, poking his cheek playfully, his nose scrunching up in feigned annoyance.

“Ugh, whatever.”

“Make a wish?” Your fingers found his in the night breeze, entwining together, the warmth of a small sun just for him.

��Fine…” He sighed, closing his eyes, lashes of concealed dreams leaning on his perfect cheekbones.

“I wished for forever with you.” He croaks out now.

An almost god brought to his knees by the treacherous fate written in devious stars.

His vision blurs, headed skyward, the universe above, a multitude of molten wildfires to him, raining down in flammable rain, his own tears the match to ignite them.

The failed god weeps. Winter burns.

✧ LYNEY

“You never know what can happen in the blink of an eye.”

Those were the words the magician once uttered, as your eyes lit up in wonder. He believes to recall it was a summer night, when his dusky gaze set on you for the first time.

Beaming and shining with excitement, you marveled at his sleight of hand, as the lumidouce bell on the performer’s hand vanished, only for its petals to have tinted in rosy shades of rainbow when the bloom next appeared in your hair.

If anyone had told Lyney, in that moment, that you’d end up putting his heart under spell, he wouldn’t have quite believed it.

But thinking back on it now, the time spent next to you certainly feels like mere seconds.

A peculiar figure sporting a top hat makes his way towards Fontaine’s graveyard.

His steps are monotone, the usual cheshire-like grin on his visage is nowhere to be seen, and in his hands, flowers abound.

Lumidouce bells.

The color of goodbyes, separations.

And the summer nights under which he used to kiss you.

“Please, Lyney! I want to see another one!” You begged, hands clasped together, eyes reflecting the last rays of the setting sun.

Your lover hums, his gaze, the backdrop against which the sunsets in your stare sparkled.

“Well, mon coeur,” the magician leaned forward, “I’ll have to charge you for it this time, you know.”

You pouted, marcotte colored lips irresistibly sweet, a bite of sugary peach in the heat of an early midsummer’s night.

“Close your eyes, my rose.” Lyney breathed, in the little dusk-lit millimeters separating you two.

“Okay.”

Warmth flooded around him the instant his lips enveloped yours, akin to fairy lights in the coziness of a familiar room, fiery arrows that linked two hearts. Your lover’s hands cupped your jawline, spells written in the caress of his gloved touch over your skin.

A new breed of magic, with the sun dipping behind the nation of hydro’s mountains to give the lovers privacy.

When he next opens his eyes, the allure has faded.

No trace of you remains, save for the emptiness and cold beside him.

And the only nightmare he can’t undo; your tombstone all too palpable, too real.

“You really never know how everything can change in the blink of an eye, huh?” Lyney utters, his voice raw, hoarse.

Despite the lumidouce bells’ petals shifting from dusk to dawn the moment he lays them to rest over you, the magician feels like he’s shooting arrows made of shadows; there’s no fiery beacon to light up this night.

The curtain closes when he steps away, rainbow roses bleeding and lonely in his wake.

The sun has set.

✧ NEUVILLETTE

Off-key birdsong and steely skies.

Those are Fontaine’s Chief Justice’s companions today.

Alone, he sits next to the ghost of someone he used to adore.

Someone he still loves.

Crystalline amethyst eyes scan the horizon. Even the seas seem turbulent today, relentless waves colliding against jutting rocks, as if by persistence alone they could cut through them.

The wailing ocean mirrors Neuvillette’s actions; as if by staring in the distance, he could somehow conjure you up back into the world, on forgotten dreams and pieces of flashbacks alone.

“It looks like it will rain soon, my dearest.” He softly says, the words lost in the monsoon overcasting the heavens.

Naturally, no answer follows, except for the agonized cry of a fallen sparrow.

The Iudex of Fontaine sighs. An upheaval in the blowing mistral combs through his hair, the sensation unlocking the pages of a diary once rose-colored, now only scattered petals over a lake that’s gone still for good.

“Isn’t the weather so nice lately, Neuvi?” You chirped, knees folded over the azure flowerbeds. Your hands were carded through your lover’s long locks, silver seafoam running almost hypnotizingly between your fingers.

Sunbeams glittered all around you when his eyes opened up to you, enigmas from the depths being laid bare for you alone.

“It is, darling…” He trailed off, one of his hands touching the side of your face, eliciting giggles from you.

Pink dusted over the pallor of his cheeks whenever you did that.

If only all days could be sunny, if only he could have kept the symphony of your laugh forever playing…

The sea’s surface turns charcoal, undulating with the low whistling of uprising gales.

Dark spots start appearing over the stone where your name’s been eternally put to sleep.

Beneath the blindfold, Justice mourns.

It’s raining again.

2K notes · View notes

huxhsz · 1 month ago

Text

— weightless paradise

transmigrated non-mc!reader x caleb

prev ch: 21 - walk┆series masterlist ┆next ch: 23 - field trip

This isn’t how the game was supposed to go. You're not supposed to be here. You're an anomaly. But if you’re already here, then… can’t you just enjoy it for now? Just for a little while? Before the main story begins? Before everything inevitably falls into place? ...Right?

cross-posted on ao3! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

CH. 022 — HOME

Bloomshore District always smells like salt and sunlight. The breeze carries the sound of waves from the harbor, mingling with the chatter of market stalls and the occasional hum of passing skycars.

It’s not fancy like the central districts—Bloomshore is quieter, the streets lined with old cobblestone and weathered storefronts. Flowers grow wild along the cracks in the pavement, bright bursts of color in the late afternoon sun.

It feels… safe.

Home.

The house is small but comfortable. Just two bedrooms, a living room, and a kitchen with a window overlooking the harbor. The furniture is mismatched, a mix of thrift store finds and things Josephine scavenged over the years, but it’s cozy. Lived-in.

And right now, it smells like food.

“Dinner’s ready,” Caleb calls from the kitchen.

You wander in, drawn by the sound of clinking pans and the low crackle of oil. Caleb is at the stove, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, a thin sheen of steam curling around his face. The light from the window catches on his dark brown hair and the sharp line of his jaw.

“You didn’t burn anything this time?” you tease, leaning against the counter.

Caleb shoots you a look. “Do you want to eat or not?”

You grin. “What are you making?”

“Stir-fry.” He tosses the pan, the vegetables sliding smoothly over the surface. “And soup.”

“You’re showing off.”

“Maybe.”

Josephine pokes her head into the kitchen. She’s holding a book in one hand and adjusting her reading glasses with the other. “Smells good.”

Caleb gestures toward the table. “Sit. It’s almost done.”

“Not bad,” Josephine muses. “You’ve gotten better.”

Caleb’s mouth twitches. “Because you stopped trying.”

Josephine raises a brow. “Because I realized you’re better than me.”

“You admitted it.”

Josephine snorts and disappears back toward the living room.

Eden slides into the kitchen next, humming under her breath. “Oh! It’s stir-fry today?”

“Mm-hmm,” Caleb says, plating the food.

“You spoil us.” Eden plops into a chair at the small round table.

“It’s better than instant meals,” Caleb says, setting down the plates.

Eden stretches her arms above her head. “True. Can’t believe we survived on nutrient bars for that long.”

“Barely,” you mutter.

The memory tastes like metal and artificial sweetness. You push it away.

Caleb sits down across from you, setting down the last dish. He doesn’t say anything, but you feel the weight of his gaze when you pick up your chopsticks.

“You didn’t have to make so much,” you say quietly.

“I wanted to.”

You sigh. “What if I didn’t want to eat?”

“You always eat when I cook,” Caleb says simply.

You glance at him, but he’s already focused on his bowl, breaking apart a piece of tofu with his chopsticks.

Always.

“Stop flirting and start eating,” Eden says, grinning.

You choke. “We’re not flirting!”

Caleb’s eyes flick up to yours, amused. “No?”

“Absolutely not,” you say firmly.

Eden hums knowingly.

You scowl at her.

Josephine returns to the room, setting her book down on the table. She doesn’t say much—she never does—but her presence is steady. A quiet anchor.

It’s complicated, sometimes.

Josephine was part of the research team. She was there when you were strapped to the table, when needles slid under your skin and cold monitors tracked your heart rate.

She stood behind the glass.

But she was also the one who pulled you out of the wreckage after the Chronorift Catastrophe. The one who brought you here, gave you a name, gave you a place to sleep.

You think about it sometimes—how her hands were so steady when they bandaged your wounds. How she never asked for forgiveness, but never stopped trying to make things right.

You don’t know if you forgive her. But you’ve stopped hating her.

Josephine picks up her chopsticks. “Good,” she says after the first bite.

Caleb smirks.

You roll your eyes.

After dinner, Eden sprawls on the couch with her legs hanging over the armrest. Caleb collects the plates and starts washing them without being asked. You lean against the counter beside him, drying the dishes.

“I can do that,” you say.

“I’ve got it.” Caleb’s hands are steady beneath the water. “You always say that, but you never mean it.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Are you calling me lazy?”

“Yes.”

You lightly smack his arm with the dish towel. He smiles.

Josephine switches on the old TV in the corner of the room. The signal is patchy, but a nature documentary flickers to life. Eden sits up, eyes bright.

“Oh, I love this one!”

Caleb passes you a clean plate. You dry it and set it in the cabinet. The light hum of the TV mixes with the sound of running water, with Eden’s soft commentary and Josephine’s occasional murmurs of agreement.

Home.

You never thought you’d have one. Not after the lab. Not after everything that was taken from you.

You glance at Caleb’s profile—the steady line of his mouth, the quiet steadiness in his movements. He catches you looking and raises an eyebrow.

You turn away quickly, face warm.

It’s complicated. But you think you can live with complicated.

#lads #lnds #love and deepspace #caleb x reader #caleb x you #lads caleb #caleb xia #lnds caleb #love and deepspace caleb

78 notes · View notes

beepboopkek · 28 days ago

Text

— Steady as Stone Chapter 1, A Study in Patience

Including: Zhongli x GN!Reader (for now) c/w: multi-chapter fic, will be NSFW later on, established relationship, non- $3xual BD$M, k1nk n3g0titation, fluff and smut, t0p!d0m!Zhongli, sub!bttm!reader, soft zhongli, reader is NOT traveller, reader has anxiety, gentle d0m zhongli (lmk if i missed anything) w/c: 8.6k

a/n: HALLO EVERYNYAN!!! we r so barrack !! life has put me through the ringer lately but cock waits for no one so here we r !! hopefully if this is well received chapter 2 will be out sooner than my other neglected fic (shh) anyway hope u enjoy!! sorry if the tags r a lil innaccurate im still learning,, i also kept my own self insert (whos dating zhongli akshually) in mind while making this but no features are described so go crazy imagining !

CONTENT BELOW THE CUT

It was a rare occasion—one of those few times where Zhongli chose to stay in with you, rather than spend his day off wandering through Liyue, making purchases, conversing with vendors, and reconnecting with old friends. You had long come to understand his love for these leisurely strolls, and though you were more of a homebody, you often accompanied him.

Late into the morning, you stirred his favorite tea, carefully carrying the pot over to the low table in the center of the living room. Zhongli sat across from where you stood, reading glasses perched low on his nose as he scanned the morning newspaper, one hand resting thoughtfully against his chin—a small, yet endearing habit of his.

The soft clink of the teapot being set down caught his attention. Without hesitation, he folded the newspaper to the side, reaching for his cup with one hand while adjusting his glasses with the other. A gentle smile graced his lips as he looked at you.

“Thank you, dear.”

No matter how many times he used these affectionate names, they still made you blush. Humming in acknowledgment, you lifted your cup in an attempt to hide your flustered expression.

Zhongli closed his eyes briefly, savoring the tea. Then, with a teasing lilt to his voice, he remarked, “This pot of tea is just as exquisite as the person who brewed it.” A sly smile tugged at his lips, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he watched for your reaction.

You ducked your head slightly, mumbling, “It’s really no different from the one you get in Liyue, but… thank you.”

Your voice came out softer than you intended, and you inwardly cringed. How was it possible to be this smitten every time he praised you? Something was terribly, terribly wrong with you.

Casual conversation carried on—you asked Zhongli what he wanted for lunch, whether he preferred to go out to Wanmin Restaurant or cook something at home.

“I was thinking we could stop by Wanmin today,” you suggested, idly swirling the tea in your cup. “It’s been a while since we’ve eaten there, and I don’t feel like cooking.”

Zhongli nodded, setting his cup down with a soft clink. “That sounds agreeable. Chef Mao’s hotpot is particularly good this time of year.”

“Hotpot?” You perked up, resting your chin on your hand. “That does sound tempting. But do you think we’ll be able to get a table? You know how busy it gets during lunchtime.”

Zhongli’s lips curled into a small smile. “I am certain we will find a way. Perhaps we could also take a stroll through the harbor afterward.”

You hummed in thought. “That sounds nice. Maybe we can stop by Third-Round Knockout and pick up some tea leaves on the way back.”

“A fine idea,” he agreed, fingers tapping lightly against the porcelain of his cup. “Though I suspect you’re more interested in their osmanthus cakes than the tea.”

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your chest. “How dare you call me out like that?”

Zhongli chuckled, deep and rich, and the sound alone made your heart stutter. “Merely an observation.”

Rolling your eyes, you shook your head with a small smile. “Fine, guilty as charged. But if we’re getting tea, we should also get some almond tofu for later.”

“That would be a welcome addition.” He exhaled softly, pausing as if in thought. Then, in a slight shift of tone, he continued, “However, before we finalize our plans, there is something I wish to discuss with you.”

His voice was calm, steady as always, yet something about the way he said it made your stomach do an uneasy flip. The casual air between you both seemed to still, anticipation creeping into your veins.

“…What is it?” you asked, sitting up a little straighter, shifting uneasily in your seat. That sentence never led to anything good in your experience. Maybe Zhongli had caught onto your sudden bout of anxiety; if he did, he made sure not to show it. “If it makes you uncomfortable, we can always stop.”

You nodded as you blew air on the edge of your cup, trying to cool the tea down, before taking a sip. “I have noticed a few things about you when we fornicate.” You choked.

Barely managing to swallow before coughing violently, you slapped a hand over your mouth as if that would somehow undo what you just heard.

Fornicate? Who even used that word anymore?!Zhongli simply waited, watching you with his usual patience as you tried to collect yourself.

“Okay, first of all—please, never say it like that again,” you blurted out, still recovering from your near-death experience with tea.

Zhongli arched a thick brow, looking completely unbothered. “Would you prefer ‘make love’?”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Oh, Archons—just—anything but ‘fornicate.’”

“Duly noted.”

He set his cup down and folded his arms—a signal that he was about to launch himself into a monologue. A signal you had long since come to understand. "You respond exceptionally well to praise, and, if you'll forgive my bluntness, you also seem to enjoy being given instructions. I've observed how you react when guided—how your breath hitches, how your gaze fogs up, the way you instinctively follow without hesitation. It’s not just obedience; it’s something deeper, something that seems to bring you a distinct sense of comfort… and perhaps even pleasure." Zhongli paused, taking in your wide eyes and timid posture. He sighed softly, realising he had to wrap up his side quickly or else he would scare you off. "What I’m saying is that I think you might enjoy a more in-depth exploration of BDSM. It seems to resonate with you on a deeper level, even if you haven’t fully acknowledged it yet. I believe it’s something worth exploring together, at a pace you're comfortable with. Do you know what that entails?"

You stared at him for what seemed like several minutes, but Zhongli, as patient as ever, only looked at you with reverence in his eyes, awaiting your response. You opened and closed your mouth like a fish out of water, trying to force the words out of your throat, but to no avail. “Take your time.” Zhongli spoke, the baritone of his voice grounding you. You shut your mouth for good this time, collecting your scattered thoughts as you tried to piece together a response. After what seemed like an eternity, you quietly spoke. “I—um, I’ve never experienced it,” you admitted, gripping your cup a little tighter. “I’ve read about it, but… that’s it.” Zhongli regarded you with his usual composed expression, though there was a flicker of something deeper in his gaze—curiosity, perhaps even understanding. He nodded slowly, unfolding his arms before speaking again.

"That’s perfectly alright, it is nothing to be ashamed about," he reassured, his voice warm and even. "Knowledge is one thing, but experience is another entirely. It’s not something one can rush into, nor is it something that should be done without trust and mutual understanding. If it’s something you’re willing to explore, I would be honored to guide you through it… but only if you truly want to."

His words sent a shiver down your spine—not from fear, but from something else entirely. Excitement? Anticipation? You weren’t sure, but the weight of his gaze, steady and patient, made your heart race. "Truth be told, it has always interested me," you admitted, your fingers tracing the rim of your cup. "I, um… I’ve read a lot about it in fanfiction, but I highly doubt it’s anything like the real thing."

Zhongli let out a soft chuckle, his golden eyes filled with quiet amusement. "Fanfiction, you say? While I admire your dedication to research, I suspect much of what you've read may be… dramatized, if not entirely inaccurate."

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. "I knew you were going to say that."

His voice took on a gentler tone as he continued, "That being said, curiosity is a natural first step. What matters most is ensuring that any experience is based on trust, communication, and a deep understanding of each other’s boundaries and desires."

You peeked at him between your fingers, your face still hotter than the Pyro Archon herself. "So… if I wanted to try, where would we even start?"

Zhongli’s lips curled into a knowing smile as he leaned forward slightly. "We start with a conversation—one where you tell me everything you’re curious about… and everything you’re unsure of." You groaned, covering your eyes with your hands again, feeling your skin burning with embarrassment beneath your fingertips.

“Do we… really have to talk about it?” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” Zhongli replied, his tone calm yet firm. “I would prefer to have this discussion openly. Communication is key in matters like these.”

You continued to watch him from in between your fingers, observing as he took a slow sip of his tea before continuing.

“As for desires and boundaries, those can be outlined in a contract—on paper. That way, there is no room for uncertainty.”

Your hands dropped slightly as you gave him a wary look. “A contract?”

Zhongli simply smiled. “Naturally.” He set his teacup down with deliberate care, his golden eyes meeting yours with steady patience. “To put it simply, BDSM is built upon three fundamental principles: everything that happens must be done with clear consent; there must exist mutual understanding; and finally, there must be a focus on both partners’ well-being.”

You swallowed, nodding slowly as he continued.

“There are different dynamics within it—dominance and submission being one of the most common. In such a relationship, one partner takes on a guiding or commanding role, while the other follows and submits to that authority. However, submission is never about weakness; it is about trust. The submissive has just as much control as the dominant, if not more, because their comfort and boundaries dictate everything.”

Your heart was hammering in your chest as you listened.

“There are also elements of sensation play, restraint, discipline, and psychological aspects that may or may not appeal to you. It is never a one-size-fits-all experience. Every dynamic is unique, shaped by the needs and desires of those involved.”

He leaned back slightly, his expression softer. “That is why a discussion like this is essential. Before anything can be explored, we must first understand what intrigues you, what you’re uncertain about, and what you absolutely do not want.”

You hesitated, processing everything he had said. “And… the contract?”

Zhongli inclined his head. “A written agreement outlining boundaries, preferences, and limits. It ensures that both parties are respected and protected. Think of it as a set of guidelines rather than a rigid document—flexible, evolving, and entirely up to us.”

You bit your lip, heat creeping up your neck again. “This is… a lot.”

His lips twitched up into a knowing smile. “Take your time, my dear. As I said before, curiosity is merely the first step.” You fidgeted with your cup, your thoughts swirling as you tried to wrap your head around everything. Zhongli’s explanation made sense—his calm, steady voice had a way of making even the most complex ideas seem approachable—but there was still so much you didn’t know.

After a moment of hesitation, you finally spoke.

“So… how do you know what someone likes? Or what they don’t like?”

Zhongli’s gaze softened, as if he was pleased by your willingness to engage. “Communication, first and foremost,” he said, chuckling as your face soured again. “Some preferences may already be known, but others can only be discovered through discussion and, if desired, gradual exploration.”

He paused briefly before continuing, “For many, this is done through a checklist—a tool to help identify interests, limits, and curiosities. Some things may intrigue you in theory, but feel different in practice. That is why it’s important to start slow and build trust.” You nodded slowly, processing his words. “And… what if I don’t know what I like yet?”

Zhongli gave you a small, reassuring smile. “Then we discover it together.”

You swallowed, feeling your face heat up again, but curiosity pushed you forward. If you were going to have this conversation, you might as well understand all of it.

“What about you?” you asked, voice quieter than intended. “What’s… your preference?”

Zhongli studied you for a moment before answering, his tone even, yet unwavering. “I prefer the dominant role.”

You felt a shiver crawl down your spine at the unwavering certainty in his voice. “Why?”

Zhongli’s expression remained calm, but there was something deeper in his gaze now—something knowing.

“There are many reasons,” he began. “For me, it is about guidance and control—not in the sense of restriction, but in offering structure and security. I take great satisfaction in learning my partner, in understanding their needs even before they voice them. A good dominant does not simply command—they observe, anticipate, and ensure their partner feels both safe and desired.”

His gaze held yours as he continued. “More than that, it is about trust. To have someone place their faith in me, to surrender control knowing that I will never overstep their boundaries—that is something I do not take lightly. I enjoy the responsibility, the care that comes with it… and, of course, the pleasure of watching my partner unravel under my attention.”

Your breath hitched slightly at his last words, a warmth spreading through your chest. You weren’t sure what you had expected, but his answer—so thoughtful, so Zhongli—only left you with more questions and a racing heart. You shifted in your seat, trying to steady your thoughts before speaking again. “About the contract… how detailed does it have to be?”

Zhongli gave you a small, approving nod, as if he was pleased you were asking thoughtful questions. “As detailed as we need it to be,” he replied. “Some contracts are simple—outlining only the most important limits and expectations—while others are more comprehensive, covering everything from specific boundaries to preferred forms of aftercare.”

His fingers traced the rim of his teacup as he continued, “The purpose of a contract is not to restrict but to clarify. It ensures that both partners are fully aware of each other’s needs and limits, so there is never uncertainty. It is not a binding document in the legal sense, but rather a mutual agreement—one that can evolve as trust deepens and desires shift.”

You nodded slowly, absorbing his words. “So… if I agreed to this, we would write one together?”

Zhongli’s lips curled into a small, gentle smile. “Yes. Together. Every line, every detail would be discussed, ensuring that you are comfortable with every aspect before anything begins.”

A flutter of nerves, mixed with something else—anticipation, possibly?—settled in your stomach. The way he spoke, so patient and assured, made the entire concept feel less intimidating… and far more intriguing. You sat in silence for a long moment, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of your teacup again. Every word Zhongli had spoken replayed in your mind—his patience, his steadfast nature, the weight of trust in his voice. He wasn’t just offering you an experience; he was offering you a foundation, a partnership built on understanding and care.

The idea should have been overwhelming, but instead, you felt something unexpected—a sense of clarity. A slow, deep realization settled within you.

“I…” You took a steady breath, lifting your gaze to meet his. “I think I want to try.”

Zhongli’s expression remained unreadable for a beat, as if gauging the depth of your conviction. Then, his lips curved into something softer—not just a smile, but something deeper, something proud.

“Very well,” he said, his voice smooth and warm—as if he had known you would reach this decision, but had been content to wait until you arrived there on your own. “Then we will take our time, discuss everything thoroughly, and move at a pace that feels right for you.”

His reassurance settled any lingering nerves, and you nodded. This was unknown territory, uncharted and vast, but you weren’t navigating it alone.

The next step arrived quicker than you anticipated, it was only a few days after your conversation that he presented you with a small stack of papers—each page neatly filled with columns of words you didn’t entirely understand. Your heart pounded as you took the documents from him, fingers ghosting over the crisp parchment. You had known this was coming, but knowing and experiencing were two very different things. You were hesitant at first, to sit down with Zhongli and understand each and every kink outlined, but you pressed through your hammering heart and went ahead. He had reassured you that there would be no pressure, no expectations. So, swallowing your nerves, you sat with him and turned your gaze to the words. The columns of words were all written in Zhongli’s neat handwriting, clear to read and immediately identifiable. What surprised you most, however, was the sheer amount—almost eight pages of kinks, limits and instructions, all painstakingly handwritten.

A shiver ran down your spine at the realization. Zhongli had spent considerable time crafting this list, ensuring every possibility was accounted for. The thought of him, sitting alone and carefully writing down all of these things with that signature patience of his, made something flutter in your chest. You snuck a glance at him. He was calm, composed as always, as if he hadn’t just handed you something that had your face burning. Meanwhile, you had barely skimmed through the first few lines, and already, heat was creeping up your neck. Some of the words on the page were unfamiliar, some made your stomach twist with curiosity, and others—others had you pressing your legs together beneath the table.

Zhongli, noticing your silence, tilted his head slightly. “If anything is unclear, you are welcome to ask,” he offered smoothly, as if he was discussing something as ordinary as a grocery list.

You exhaled, steadying yourself. This was fine. This was just a conversation.

“…Okay,” you said, voice a little weaker than you’d have liked. “Let’s go through it.”

Zhongli’s lips curled into something small, something approving. “Very well. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

…It was indeed not ‘just’ a conversation.

Zhongli remained calm and patient through it all, effortlessly composed as he explained each term with the same measured tone he used when discussing historical texts or the finest tea blends. Meanwhile, you—well. You were a blushing, overheating mess barely holding yourself together.

At some point, you had abandoned any attempt at dignity, sliding further and further down your seat until you were practically sinking into the floor, face buried in your hands.

“Are you feeling overwhelmed?” Zhongli asked, his voice laced with the barest hint of amusement.

You peeked at him between your fingers, your face burning hotter than the sun. “Overwhelmed is an understatement,” you groaned.

The list was thorough—painfully thorough. Every kink, every act, every dynamic was detailed in that elegant script of his, with small notes in the margins explaining anything that might be unfamiliar. You couldn’t even begin to wrap your head around his unwavering composure— as solid as the element he governs.

“I—I just—” You flailed slightly, struggling to form a coherent thought. “You actually wrote out all of this?”

Zhongli nodded, entirely unaffected. “Of course. Proper communication is essential. It is important that you understand each possibility before making any decisions.”

You groaned again, pressing your forehead against the table. “I don’t know if I’m more impressed or mortified.”

Zhongli chuckled, a soft little sound. “There is nothing to be embarrassed about, my dear. This is simply an exploration of interests. Whether you find something intriguing or wish to rule it out, every reaction is valid.”

Easy for him to say—he wasn’t the one barely holding onto their composure.

You took a slow, deep breath, willing yourself to pull it together. “Okay,” you murmured. “I can do this. Let’s… keep going.”

Zhongli’s smile was subtle but unmistakably pleased. “That’s the spirit.”

After he’d explained each item on the list iin-depth, it was time to move ahead. Taking another deep breath, you straightened in your seat—or at least tried to, despite still feeling like you’ve melted into a puddle of embarrassment. Zhongli patiently waited as you gathered yourself, his golden gaze warm yet expectant.

“So… what now?” you asked, voice only slightly wobbly.

Zhongli gestured toward the stack of papers in front of you. “We will go through each item one by one once again. If it is something that interests you, or something you are certain you wish to explore, we will mark it with green. If it is something you are unsure about, hesitant on, or feel neutral toward, we will mark it with yellow. And if it is something you do not want under any circumstances, we will mark it with red.”

You nodded slowly. It sounded simple enough. But as your eyes flickered down to the page again, scanning the long list of kinks, a wave of heat crawled up your neck. Simple or not, actually deciding on these things was another matter entirely.

Zhongli, ever perceptive, seemed to catch your hesitation. “We are in no rush,” he reminded you gently. “You may take as much time as you need. Moreover, if you wish to understand what something entails, I will be more than happy to explain it again.”

You exhaled, nodding again. “Alright.” You picked up the pen he had placed beside the papers and, after one last moment of internal screaming, placed a careful green mark beside something that made your stomach twist in interest.

Zhongli hummed approvingly, his sharp eyes noting your choice. “A fine selection,” he murmured, voice low but undeniably pleased.

Your hand tightened around the pen, snatching the paper away from Zhongli’s piercing eyes as you looked at him from the corner of your eye, face burning. “D—Don’t say it like that! And don’t look!”

His lips twitched in the faintest trace of amusement, but he said nothing more, simply gesturing for you to continue.

And so, you did—marking red for hard limits, yellow for things you weren’t sure about, and green for things that sent a thrill through your body. With each mark, you noticed that Zhongli was also filling his list alongside you, albeit much faster than you. You had to remind yourself that it wasn't a competition. Zhongli remained patient, never rushing, never pushing, only guiding. And by the time you had reached the last page, your heart was still racing—but now, it was more with anticipation than mortification.

Once the last mark was made, you set your pen down with a relieved sigh, leaning back in your seat. Zhongli, ever composed, waited for you to collect yourself before he slid his own identical stack of papers toward you.

“We will now exchange sheets,” he said smoothly, as if this was a standard contractual agreement rather than an intimate discussion about deeply personal desires.

You swallowed, your fingers hesitating for a moment before you slid your own sheets over to him in return. The weight of the moment settled in as you each took in the other’s markings—your own list now in his hands, and his in yours.

Your eyes scanned over Zhongli’s paper, taking in the familiar crisp handwriting, now marked with green, yellow, and red. Some of the things he had marked green made your breath hitch slightly, heat prickling at your skin. Others, especially the ones marked yellow, sparked curiosity. But it was the red marks that truly held your attention.

Zhongli, who had already begun reviewing your own sheet, glanced up. “If there is anything that stands out to you, do not hesitate to ask.”

You bit your lip before tentatively pointing to one of his red-marked kinks. “This one… ‘Blood Play’, you marked it as a hard limit. Can I ask why?”

Zhongli set your paper down, folding his hands neatly in his lap as he met your gaze. “Of course,” he said without hesitation. “This particular act does not align with my personal preferences, nor do I believe it would bring either of us enjoyment. Boundaries exist for a reason, and I expect you to uphold mine just as I will uphold yours.”

His words settled something deep within you, a reassurance that this was truly an equal exchange. You nodded, understanding. “That makes sense.”

He studied you for a moment before his own curiosity flickered across his expression. “And you?” His eyes dipped briefly to your sheet before returning to you. “I noticed you marked ‘Switching’ as yellow. Are you uncertain about it?”

You followed his gaze, spotting the term he was referring to, and felt your face heat up. “I—yeah,” you admitted. “I don’t know if I’d like it or not. I just… haven’t really thought about it much before.”

Zhongli hummed in thought. “Then it is something we can discuss further in the future,” he said simply. “There is no need to make a decision now.”

The ease with which he spoke, the lack of pressure, made you relax a little. This wasn’t a test or a negotiation with strict terms—this was a conversation, one meant to foster understanding.

You nodded, a small smile forming at the corners of your lips. “Okay. That sounds fair.” You spent a long moment going over his sheet, your fingers fidgeting slightly against the edges of the paper as you took everything in. Seeing his interests and boundaries laid out so clearly made everything feel real in a way that even your initial conversation hadn’t. This wasn’t just some abstract discussion anymore—this was him, his preferences, his desires.

And the fact that he was sitting here, openly sharing all of this with you, trusting you with it, made something warm settle deep in your chest.

Still, curiosity won over hesitation. You tapped your finger against another mark on his sheet—a very clear green—before looking up at him. “And this? You marked ‘Kneeling’ as a strong interest. Can I ask why?”

Zhongli’s golden eyes flicked down to where you were pointing, and for the first time since this discussion began, you saw something shift in his expression. It was subtle, but the corners of his mouth curved ever so slightly—not quite a smirk, but something close.

“You may,” he answered, his voice carrying the same smooth confidence as before, but now laced with something deeper. “That particular dynamic appeals to me for a number of reasons, but primarily because it aligns with my natural inclinations.”

You swallowed, feeling an odd mix of anticipation and nerves. “Which are?”

His gaze held yours, unwavering. “As I mentioned a few days back, I find great satisfaction in structure, in guidance. I enjoy providing my partner with direction and watching them flourish under it. There is a certain intimacy in control—not as a means of restriction, but as a way of deepening trust.”

Your breath caught slightly, and you tried not to shift in your seat. How was he saying these things so effortlessly?

“I see,” you mumbled, eyes darting back to the paper, more as an excuse to look away than anything else. You could feel his gaze on you, patient yet knowing, as if he could already see the way his words were affecting you.

Zhongli let the silence linger for a moment before speaking again. “And you?”

Your head snapped back up. “Huh?”

A glint of amusement danced in his eyes. “You marked the same with yellow.” He tapped a finger against your sheet, the slight smirk still playing at his lips. “Are you uncertain because you lack experience, or because you are unsure whether it would suit you?”

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to maintain eye contact. “...Both,” you admitted. “I mean, I think I’d like it, but I don’t know for sure. I’ve never had someone actually… take control like that before.”

Zhongli nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Then it is something we can explore carefully, should you choose to. There is no need to rush—only to communicate.”

His calm, measured response should have eased your nerves, but instead, it only made you hyper-aware of the weight of his words. “Should you choose to”. The choice was yours, entirely, but the way he spoke made it clear that if you did choose to pursue this… he would guide you through it with the same meticulous care he approached everything else.

The thought sent a full-body shiver through you.

You took a shaky breath, nodding. “Right. Communication.”

Zhongli’s lips twitched, but he said nothing else, simply waiting for you to continue.

Your eyes flickered back to his list, scanning over the remaining marks. The conversation had already gone deeper than you expected, but there was one last thing you needed to ask before you could fully process it all.

Taking a steadying breath, you pointed to a specific line near the bottom of the page—one of the few things he had marked yellow. “And, ‘Breath Control’?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. “Why are you unsure about this one?”

Zhongli studied your expression for a moment before answering. “Because,” he said slowly, “it would depend entirely on my partner.”

You frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I have no personal aversion to it,” he explained, voice even as always. “However, its enjoyment is derived from the response of the one I am with. If my partner finds it pleasurable, then so do I. If not, I would have no particular attachment to it.”

You blinked, absorbing his words. “So… you’d only be into it if I was?”

A single nod. “Precisely.”

Something about that answer sent another wave of warmth through you—this time, not out of flustered embarrassment, but something softer. Zhongli wasn’t just interested in his own preferences; he was interested in yours. In you.

You swallowed thickly, nodding as you let the information settle. “That… makes sense.”

Zhongli watched you for a moment longer, then set the papers aside. “I believe we have covered the majority of what needed to be discussed.”

You blinked. “Oh.” You glanced down at the pages, realizing that, somehow, you had made it through all of them. You still felt like you might spontaneously combust at any moment, but you had done it.

Zhongli’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. “How are you feeling?”

That was a loaded question.

“…Overwhelmed,” you admitted, rubbing the back of your neck. “But also… kind of relieved? I don’t know, I just—” You sighed, shaking your head. “I was so anxious about this conversation, but you made it feel… safe.”

Zhongli’s expression softened, and he reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was so gentle, so intentional, that it nearly made your breath catch.

“I am glad,” he murmured. “That is the most important thing.”

You swallowed, your heart hammering against your ribs.

This was really happening.

And you were starting to think you wanted it more than you’d ever realized.

A few days had passed since your conversation, and while the initial overwhelming fluster had settled, the thoughts had not. Every now and then, your mind would drift back to the discussion, to the words written in Zhongli’s neat script, to the way he had patiently answered each of your questions, to the way his eyes carried more warmth and love for you than anyone else, and his unending patience through all your self-doubt and anxiety.

You had agreed to take your time—to ease into things rather than rushing headfirst. But tonight, as you sat beside Zhongli in the quiet glow of your shared space, sipping on tea that had long since gone lukewarm, you felt the weight of unspoken words between you.

Zhongli noticed, of course. He always did.

Setting his cup down with careful precision, he turned to you, studying your expression. “You seem lost in thought.”

You hesitated, fingers tightening slightly around your cup. “…I guess I’m just trying to picture it,” you admitted. “What it would actually be like.”

Zhongli hummed in understanding, his golden gaze holding yours. “Would you like me to describe it to you?”

Your breath hitched slightly. “You mean…?”

“A scene,” he clarified smoothly. “A glimpse of what you could expect,”

Your heartbeat stuttered. It was one thing to read about it, to theorize and wonder. But to have him—the man you trusted, the man who made you feel both safe and utterly unraveled—describe it in his own words?

You swallowed hard, then gave a small nod. “Okay.”

Zhongli’s gaze darkened slightly, though his expression remained composed. He leaned forward just enough that the space between you felt smaller, more intimate. When he spoke, his voice was low, as smooth as polished Cor Lapis.

"Then picture this,” he murmured.

“You stand before me, anticipation thrumming beneath your skin. You do not yet know what I will ask of you, only that you have entrusted yourself to me for the evening. I take my time—watching you, observing the way you respond to my presence, the way your breath hitches when I step closer. I do not touch you yet. Not until I am ready.”

A shiver ran down your spine. You shifted slightly, pressing your thighs together, but Zhongli didn’t acknowledge it. He simply continued.

“When I finally reach for you, it is deliberate—one hand at the back of your neck, the other tracing the length of your arm, slow and measured. I tilt your chin up, making sure you meet my gaze.”

His voice dipped, the weight of those words settling deep in your bones. You could almost imagine him doing these things to you, almost see the way his golden eyes would bore into you, unwavering.

“Pleased with your obedience—I reward you. Perhaps with my touch, perhaps with my voice, whispering praise against the shell of your ear. I let you feel the restraint, the control. I give you direction, and you—” His lips quirked slightly. “—you follow beautifully.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, your fingers digging into the fabric of your clothing as your eyes remained trained on your legs. Your entire body felt like it was burning.

Zhongli watched you closely, his gaze flickering over your face, as if memorizing your every reaction. And then, just as smoothly as he had begun, he leaned back, his expression once again composed.

“That,” he said calmly, “is merely one possibility.”

You exhaled shakily, your entire world narrowing down to him—his voice, his presence, the lingering heat of his words still settling into your skin.

“…Oh.” It was all you could manage.

Zhongli’s lips curled slightly, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. “You seem… affected.”

You buried your face in your hands with a groan. “You think?”

A low chuckle rumbled from him, warm and indulgent. He reached out, prying your hands gently from your face, his gloved fingers cool against your overheated skin. “There is no need for embarrassment,” he murmured. “I only wish for you to understand what this dynamic might entail.”

You met his gaze, your pulse still racing. There was no teasing in his expression, no judgment—only patience. You swallowed. “I… think I understand.”

Zhongli tilted his head slightly, watching you. “And do you wish to take the next step?”

Your breath caught. You had spent days thinking about this, about whether you were truly ready. But after hearing that—after feeling the effect his words alone had on you—was there really any doubt left?

You inhaled slowly, steadying yourself. Then, finally, you nodded.

“Yes,” you murmured. “I do.”

“Good,” he said, voice rich with quiet satisfaction. “Then we shall begin a discussion for our first scene together. I wish to plan something that is not inclined entirely towards something sexual, since it is your first time. We can have this as a trial run to see how you like things. What do you think?”

You nodded slowly, your mind still catching up to the gravity of the moment. A trial run. Something meant to ease you into the dynamic without pushing you too far, too fast. The idea was reassuring, grounding you in the knowledge that Zhongli would guide you at a steady pace.

“That… sounds good,” you admitted, voice quieter than you intended.

Zhongli’s eyes softened just slightly, a glimmer of approval settling in their golden depths. “Then let us discuss what this scene will entail.”

He sat back, folding his hands neatly in his lap as he regarded you. “To begin, I want to establish a structured environment—one where you can focus entirely on obedience and discipline, without the distraction of intimacy. This will allow you to explore the dynamic fully before we proceed any further.”

You swallowed, nodding again. The way he spoke—so composed, so sure—only reassured you further.

Zhongli continued, his tone smooth and deliberate. “For our first scene, I propose a few simple tasks. One: posture training. Learning to hold yourself properly under my instruction, maintaining discipline in both mind and body.”

You could already feel the phantom weight of his gaze, the way he would watch you, correct you.

“Two,” he went on, “obedience drills. Simple commands that will help you understand what it means to yield—not out of obligation, but by choice.”

His words sent warmth curling through your chest. You had already felt it, the pull of his authority, the way it settled over you like a comforting weight.

“And finally,” Zhongli said, voice dipping just slightly, “endurance.”

You blinked, tilting your head. “Endurance?”

A slow, knowing smile curved his lips. “Yes. The ability to hold a position, to follow instruction without hesitation, to listen even when the silence feels overwhelming. Discipline is not simply about following orders—it is about understanding them.”

You exhaled shakily, processing everything he had said. It all made sense. He was creating a foundation, a structured experience that would allow you to explore without feeling lost.

Zhongli observed you for a moment before speaking again, his voice gentle yet firm. “Does this sound like something you would be comfortable with?”

You nodded, heat creeping up your neck. “Yes.”

His gaze flickered over you, assessing. “Good. Then tell me—would you prefer for this scene to have a set timeframe, or shall we go until you feel you have reached your limit?”

The question took you by surprise. He was giving you control over the structure, ensuring you had a say in how this would unfold.

After a moment of thought, you answered, “A set time, I think.”

Zhongli nodded approvingly. “Very well. An hour, then. Enough time to explore, but not so much that you feel overwhelmed.”

Zhongli’s voice drew you back to the present. “Then we will begin tomorrow.”

Your breath hitched. “Tomorrow?”

He chuckled, the sound rich and indulgent. “Yes. I want you to have time to process, to prepare. Anticipation is a powerful thing, my dear.”

You swallowed hard, heat pooling low in your stomach at his words.

Zhongli’s golden eyes glowed with quiet amusement as he reached forward, brushing his thumb under your eye. “Rest well,” he murmured, his fingers lingering for just a moment. “You will need it.”

The next day could not have arrived faster, you thought to yourself, as your jittery hands unlocked the front door with Zhongli’s pair of extra keys that he had given to you. The door unlocked with a resounding click and you stood motionless at the door for a moment, collecting your thoughts.

Zhongli had made it abundantly clear that you could back out of this scene at any time you felt uncomfortable and he would be entirely okay with it. But, something about seeing Zhongli’s glimmering eyes and soothing voice was driving you to at least try your best. Zhongli had instructed you to prepare—wear something comfortable, ensure you were hydrated, and most importantly, come with an open mind. You took a deep breath as you pushed the door open and stepped in, setting down your bag and timidly waving at Zhongli, who was seated on his usual seat. You also noted the lack of the center table and the stack of books next to the sofa he was seated on along with a pillow placed on the ground. “Come,” he said simply, noting how your mind was already wandering

You obeyed without thought, stepping around the sofas until you stood right before him— Peering down into amber eyes.

Zhongli studied you in silence for a moment, as if assessing something unseen. Then, he reached out, his fingers ghosting over your wrist, grounding you.

“Are you ready?”

You swallowed, nodding. “Yes.”

A small, approving smile graced his lips. “A few instructions, we will follow the tricolour dango system for this scene. When I ask you what colour you’re feeling, you respond with ‘green’ for good, if you are okay to continue; ‘white’ as a warning, if some discomfort is present; and finally, ‘pink’ to completely stop the action. Is that understood?”

You swallowed again, nodding in affirmation. Zhongli’s gaze remained steady, but his brows furrowed slightly. “I would like you to provide as many verbal confirmations as possible. It is important for both of us.” “...Yes, I understand.” “Good.” Then, he continued, his tone calm yet firm. “If at any point you feel overwhelmed, even after signaling ‘green,’ we will use our safeword. I trust you remember what it is?” “Yes, Glaze Lily.” “Correct. You’re doing exceptionally well so far.” You ducked your head at that, blushing as he chuckled at your reaction. He closed the book he was reading and cleared his throat. “We will begin now. Do you have any questions you would like to ask, or any other preparations you want to make?” You hesitated, your stomach twisting in anxiety at the thought of what you were going to say. You cringed, but decided to ask anyway. "Yes... what do I… call you?"

Zhongli tilted his head slightly at your question, his amber eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. “Ah. I see you have given this some thought.”

Your face burned, but you nodded. “I mean… I’ve read things. In fanfiction.” You hesitated before continuing, voice growing softer. “There are… titles. Honorifics. And I wasn’t sure if you had a preference.”

Zhongli let out a thoughtful hum, stepping closer. “It is true that certain titles are often used in dynamics such as these.” He regarded you carefully, as if weighing his words. “However, what truly matters is what feels natural for you.”

His voice dipped lower, more deliberate. “Would you prefer something formal? ‘Sir’ is a common choice, one that carries both respect and structure.”

Your breath hitched at the way he said it.

“Or something more personal?” He paused, a faint smirk curling at the edges of his lips. “I must admit, I have always been rather fond of ‘Master’.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the weight of the word.

Zhongli’s gaze remained steady. “But the choice remains yours, my dear. I won’t enforce anything. At least not now, for our first time doing this together.” You whispered a muted ‘okay’ as your skin crawled with embarrassment, but before you could spiral into your own thoughts, a firm voice broke you out of your stupor. “Kneel.”

Zhongli’s voice was steady, unwavering, yet never forceful. It was a command, yes, but one laced with patience.

“Slowly,” he reminded you, his tone soothing. “Gently, onto the pillow. Move with intention, and above all, be mindful of your own comfort.” You swallowed hard, obeying as you carefully lowered yourself onto your knees. Your movements were stiff, uncertain, and your skin prickled with self-consciousness.

You adjusted yourself onto the pillow, foam dipping underneath your weight, You placed your hands on your thighs for balance, your breath uneven as you settled into the position.

“Now,” Zhongli continued, leaning closer towards you. “Spread your legs—just enough to remain comfortable.”

Your face grew impossibly warm, and for a moment, hesitation gripped you. The vulnerability of it all sent your thoughts into a spiral, but before you could get lost in your own self-consciousness, Zhongli spoke again.

“You are overthinking this.”

Your eyes flicked up to him, startled.

His expression was calm, unreadable, but there was an undeniable softness in his gaze. “This is not a test. There is no right or wrong way to feel. I simply wish for you to be at ease.”

You took a shaky breath, nodding, and forced yourself to relax. Slowly, you parted your knees, shifting into a position that felt natural.

Zhongli observed you in silence for a moment before offering a small nod of approval. “Good. Now hold this position.”

You did as instructed, the weight of his gaze pressing into you like a silent force. It wasn’t uncomfortable—just new. Different.

“Tell me,” he murmured, “How do you feel?”

You wet your lips before answering, voice barely above a whisper.

“…Exposed.”

Zhongli let out a thoughtful hum. “That is to be expected.”

You heard the rustle of fabric as he moved slightly, still seated across you. “And yet, you are still here. Still listening. Still following.”

The words sent a shiver through you.

Zhongli exhaled softly, his voice a velvet murmur that wrapped around your nerves like silk. “You are doing well,” he said, approval thick in his tone—quiet but grounding, like a weight that anchored you in place. “Shall we continue?”

You nodded at first, but then remembered his earlier request for verbal confirmation. Your throat felt dry, your heart beating a little faster as you forced your voice past the lump in it.

“Yes… Sir.”

There was a beat of stillness. His amber eyes flickered with something—surprise, perhaps?—just for the briefest moment. But it passed just as quickly, fading back into the steady, composed expression you had come to rely on.

His smile softened, warm and reassuring, and he reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face.

“Good,” he said, voice low and fond. “You may use my legs for support, if that will help you stay comfortable.”

He adjusted his posture, sitting up straighter as he reached for the book beside him, flipping it open with deliberate ease.

“I am going to read now,” he continued. “You will stay where you are, relaxed and present. If anything feels off, you will tell me immediately. Is that understood?”

You nodded again, more firmly this time. “Yes, Sir.”

The corners of his mouth tugged upward ever so slightly in approval before his gaze shifted down to the pages in his hands.

And just like that, the silence enveloped the two of you like a weighted blanket. Zhongli’s eyes scanned the pages with the same graceful attentiveness he applied to everything he did. His presence, calm and composed, exuded a quiet authority that filled the room. You shifted slightly, careful to maintain your position, adjusting your weight against his legs as he’d allowed.

The rustle of the paper as he turned a page was soothing, almost meditative. There was something oddly comforting in the silence that followed—being still, being watched over. His hand occasionally moved, brushing idle circles against the back of your head, never distracting, only grounding.

“You’re doing very well,” he said after a few minutes, his voice low, almost like an afterthought—but it made your chest flutter nonetheless. “I’m pleased.”

You weren’t sure what made you more placid—his praise, the closeness, or the simple, deliberate rhythm of his movements. But you basked in it anyway, quietly proud that you hadn’t panicked or shifted away. Time passed slowly, though you did not count the minutes. The silence between you was never empty—it was full of breath and thought and unspoken affection. His hand would occasionally leave the top of your head to turn a page or adjust his posture ever so slightly, his calm energy keeping you anchored, a silent reassurance that he hadn’t forgotten you were there—he never would.

You stayed still, adjusting slightly only when your knees began to ache, always mindful of the position, of your breathing, of the atmosphere that wrapped around the two of you like velvet.

After what must have been the agreed upon timeframe of an hour, Zhongli gently closed his book and placed it to the side. The soft sound of the cover meeting wood brought you back to the present like a gentle chime. His hand moved to cup your cheek, thumb brushing softly along your skin as he coaxed your sleepy gaze upward.

“You did wonderfully,” he said, his voice low and warm, thick with praise. “How are you feeling?”

You blinked up at him, eyes slightly dazed from the quiet headspace you’d slipped into. Your body felt heavy, but not unpleasantly so. Relaxed. Tethered. You offered a small nod, followed by a whispered, “Good… I feel good.”

A rare smile touched his lips, one that reached all the way to his eyes.

“Let us bring this scene to a close, then,” he said gently. “You’ve done enough for now.”

His hands moved with care as he helped you sit up on the sofa, guiding you slowly to avoid any sudden discomfort. He handed you a glass of water, fingers lingering against yours in a touch that felt as intimate as any embrace.

Zhongli remained close as he took a hold of your legs, gently stretching both limbs as your knees protested from being locked in the same position for so long. As you winced at the feeling returning to your legs again, you felt a pair of lips on your knee. “You listened to every word, and you stayed with me. I’m proud of you.”

You felt your throat tighten with emotion. A breath caught. All of it—your effort, your nervousness, the fluttering thoughts you tried to push down—felt worth it just to hear that.

“You did not falter,” he continued softly, reaching out to cup your face. “You respected your own limits while offering me your trust. That is no small thing. I want you to know how much I value it—and you.”

You blinked quickly, overwhelmed, but nodded.

“I… I wanted to do well for you.”

Zhongli’s expression softened. “And you have. More than well. I am exceptionally proud.”

He helped you shift positions slowly, guiding you up with steady hands so you wouldn’t strain anything. Every movement was careful, deliberate, as though you were something precious—because in his eyes, you were.

“You may rest now,” he murmured. “You’ve earned that much and more.” You nodded numbly, mind still clouded as you were led to his bedroom. You barely registered how his hands moved with practiced care—helping you tug off your clothes, guiding you under the covers as if you were made of something fragile. All you truly noticed was the pleasant ache still blooming in your knees, the distant hum beneath your skin, and the warmth that clung to you like a second blanket.

He didn’t speak much—he didn’t need to. His presence alone was grounding, quiet and constant. The mattress dipped slightly as he sat beside you, brushing your hair away from your face with a tenderness that made your chest tighten.

Then, a kiss—soft, reverent—was pressed to your forehead.

“You did so well,” he murmured, the weight of his voice pulling you deeper into the warmth of the moment. “Rest now. I’m right here.”

Your fingers curled faintly into the blanket as sleep tugged you under, slow and sweet.

And the last thing you felt was not the ache, not the nerves, not the uncertainty…

But safety. Wholeness.

And love, quiet and unwavering, resting just behind the press of his lips.

#zhongli the man that u are #zhongli smut #zhongli x reader #zhongli genshin impact #zhongli x you #reader insert #reader x character #reader x genshin impact

64 notes · View notes

the-fandom-is-now-my-life · 1 year ago

Note

So uh...I know the odds of this happening is slim to none, but I figure I'll shoot my shot: the Creator having a little one, who is sporting a small diamond marking on their forehead? (Xiao, it's Xiao as the dad.) And for fun: Venti somehow gets blamed for this! :D

Tsarita: The Yaksha has an Anemo Vision. Of course someone who uses the element of Barbatos would be so forward as to try something with the Creator!

Venti: I DID NOTHING, WHY AM I BEING BLAMED?!

A forever diamond

WC: ~600

Cw: Raiden is alloyist 😔

Imagine if this happened close to cloud retainer and she just side eyes Xiao like "this one is impressed the conqueror of demons has, what the younger generations call, rizz"

Xuezhui’s birthdays are a whole event for liyue, somewhat of an unofficial holiday, people are often given half day or the whole day to roam the streets, different vendors setting stalls with food and trinkets.

A room would get rented in the xinyue salon and the seven stars and the archons would accompany for lunch and a small dessert for the toddler.

As you finish eating and leave Xuezhui on the floor she starts running to a small group of children, zhongli trailing behind her so you could finish your conversation with keqing.

Regal as when he was an archon zhongli stands a few meters away from the little group of children playing tag. Sometimes he can't help but let himself drift in his thoughts, Xuezhui is so similar to Xiao when he rescued him, even when only a handful of people remember that day he can see it as clear as day. Could Xiao have spent his younger life as carefree as this little girl?

Suddenly he is snapped from his daydream by a scream and sobbing.

“What is it, little one?” zhongli leans forward where xuezhui was seated crying, some of her friends surrounding her. He saw her fall while chasing each other but it didn't seem hard enough for her to not keep playing.

“It hurrrttss” her hands clasped on her forehead, tear clouding her eyes.

“Let me see” softly he pries her hands away, expecting to see some flushed skin, maybe a bruise or some blood but it was neither of those, rather it was a small purple diamond “...interesting”

“What happened over here?” Quickly you walk towards them, worried about the soft sniffles and suddenly falling to the floor. She makes grabby hands so you perch her on your hip, smoothing her hair.

“Someone can't refuse her inheritance for too long” he taps between his brows, letting you know. Swiftly you move her bangs, showing a small diamond just under her hairline.

“I thought it was make up”

“it would make sense with his depressive persona but as you already know adepti have no need for vision and merely wear one to comply with human expectations,” he picks something up from the floor, a small golden plate before placing it on the silk in the back of her dress “on the contrary, half adeptus like Ganyu need a vision to canalize elemental energy yet can use adeptal features to hone their abilities”

“I can barely manage her as it's, don't tell me that was a vision”

His hand falls on your shoulder, a stiff smile trying not to laugh at you “I would invest in fire insurance”

Seemingly your defeated face was very visible, even from a few meters away, or you took a fair amount of time, as some archon and Ningguang were approaching you.

“Is anything wrong I could help with?” Ningguang speaks first, wandering what might have happened.

“Xuezhui fell, just a small nick on the forehead” zhongli snickers behind you.

“if she hurt herself I'm sure Dr Baizhu wouldn't mind checking her up quickly” she attempts to check her but you change her to the other side, attempting to hide her mark.

“She is fine, she just got scared and is a bit cuddly”

“oh, what a shame, I wanted to try her beloved almond tofu but if she is so stuck with you we will have to leave it for another occasion”

“Almond tofu! Let's go” she jumps out of your arms and jumps towards Raiden, who notices instantly the soft purple diamond “mmh, what is this?” she swipes her thumb over it but it doesn't smudge, the edges perfectly neat.

“Who does that remind me of?” Venti taps his chin.

“the vigilant yaksha?...” Ningguang mumbles under her breath. She did know he took the role of your bodyguard but never thought your relationship would be so more intimate

“So in the end it WAS your fault…”

“but he is from Liyue! It's Morax’s fault!”

“But he has an anemo vision”

“What is that supposed to mean?!”

“All anemo vision holders are libertine or lazy”

“Hey! That is alloyism!”

“who would have guessed this would work out nicely for me”

#genshin impact #gi #sagau #genshin x reader #self aware genshin impact #sagau x reader #genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #genshin impact xiao #xiao x reader #genshin xiao

297 notes · View notes

vividraft · 7 months ago

Text

fading remembrance ✧˖*°࿐

⇢ ˗ˏˋ gn!reder x xiao, wanderer, kazuha (seperate)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ summary: he was there with you when you spent your last moments on earth. but living without you was never something he could have ever imagined

⇢ ˗ˏˋ important notes: this is a repost from my old account (@/rainstops)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ a/n: I reformatted this post while i was watching aitsuki nakurus life stream... her speaking voice is so nice she sounds like kiritani haruka

old posts masterlist tba !

whenever xiao ordered almond tofu at any restaurant, it always tasted the same. even when he cooked it himself. it always had the same taste. The tofu being as bland as tofu usually is, and the dish tasting sweet and like almonds. just what you would expect almond tofu to be. nothing more and nothing less.

but when you appeared in his life, xiao found out you liked cooking. and when you found out that almond tofu was his favorite dish, you immediately went out of your way to learn how to make almond tofu. knowing that xiao ate it a lot, you asked him if he could taste it. xiao did what you asked him to. but what he did not expect was that the almond tofu tasted different. not in a bad way, but whenever you cooked it, it tasted like you had put your emotions onto a plate. like a little piece of joy, you served xiao. It was the first time, xiao could for sure say that he enjoyed something. but the word 'enjoy' did not feel like it was enough to describe the way he felt.

He loved the dish, he loved how skilled you were at cooking it, but most of all, he loved you.

and you loved him too.

you loved him as long as you could. you loved him, before the passing of time took your life. xiao loved you a lot longer than just that. He loved everything about you. He loved the way you would smile at him, because you gave him a different smile you gave your friends, your family or strangers.

When his immortality kept him right where he was, he realized how frozen in time he felt. for you everything moved on so quickly, and soon it was over. xiaos days remained the same old and blank routine before you showed up, and it returned to being the same when you left. but after your death, everything seemed to be so heavy. his eyelids, his arms, his legs, his head, but especially his heart.

He searched all across teyvat, for a person, a restaurant or anyone, who could cook almond tofu the exactly way you did. He wanted to taste it again, even if it was just once more.

he despaired when he couldn't find a way to make his favorite dish taste the way you made it taste, but his whole world crumbled only then, when he realized he couldn't remember how it tasted. he stopped counting the days and the nights he spend living, because why would it matter if he was slowly forgetting you?

he used to do it, so he could remember your birthday, or your anniversary, or any day that was special to you. but now you are gone, and xiaos memories are leaving as well.

venti wrote many songs in his life. many of them telling stories, but just as many of them just there to sound pretty.

but then when you showed up, he had someone to write songs for. He wrote them about you, and for you. and you sang the songs together.

venti loved your voice. your voice was the best part of his songs. to him, it sounded like an angel's voice.

not only your singing voice, but your voice in general. it made his heart beat so fast, it nearly sprang out of his chest. Whenever you greeted him with a smile on your face, it was like all his worries and problems disappeared into thin air.

maybe he took it for granted. Maybe he expected to be able to wake up everyday and sing in the kitchen with you while preparing breakfast together. Maybe he just thought you could sing him to sleep every night.

Well it so happened that that was not the case.

a member of the fatui took your life, and your angelic voice right with it. venti was there. venti was there, when the knife of the fatui found your back. the next moments were a mere blur to venti. He remembers getting rid of the fatui, and in the following moments, he held you in his arms, pleading to be able to hear your voice again.

he mumbled something along the lines of healing you, but you told him that it was too late. it was you who spoke those words, with the voice he loved so much. you lifted a hand to his cheek, and said the three words he loved hearing from you so much. a tear left his eye and fell right under your eye, on your cheek, making it look like it was a tear of your own. He held you in his arms tightly, like it could prevent you from leaving the world.

That was when you spoke your last words.

'Thank you' they were.

thank you? What were you thanking him for?

your eyes closed, and the smile you had on your face the last moments before your death left. your hand slowly sank from his face, and he held your hand.

your hands were usually cold, but this time it bothered him. this time it felt like it was only pointing towards your death.

The wanderer never held much appreciation for the people around him. that was until you came around. it was like you could see right through him, and his facade. like you could see the way he crumbled on the inside, not knowing how to handle his own emotions.

He loved the way you held his hand. your warm hand felt very relaxing against his usual cold one. often you would play with them as well. whenever he was having an especially hard day, because some people kept annoying him, you'd sit down with him. his head in your lap while you were massaging one of his hands. you'd listen carefully as he talks about the people that would annoy him throughout the day. at the end, you would give him a kiss on the forehead. although often enough he'd already been asleep by then.

but you seemed to know him better than he knew himself. you knew what he needed and when he needed it. Whenever he was about to explode from anger, you hugged him, since you seem to very well know that all the anger is built up from all the things that happened to him.

a tear fell as you held scaramouche close to you. one hand around his body, and the other on the back of his head, as his head was resting on your shoulder. the tears were wetting your shoulder but you didn't mind. you would do anything to make scaramouche happy again.

another tear fell, another one, and another one. but this time it was the day you died.

with widened eyes you dropped to the floor on your knees, scaramouche caught you before you could drop to the floor. a singular tear fell from your eye as well.

scaramouche held your body tightly against his, as if you would disappear if he would let go. In this scenario, this was the case, but no matter how close he'd hold you, there was nothing he could do.

he held you the way you did it, everytime he was upset. with an arm around your body, and a hand on the back of your head, while your head was laying against his shoulder.

'i can't breathe scaramouche. i'm scared'

were the last words you spoke, before your eyes slowly closed.

scaramouche had never cried that much in his life. not when he was betrayed so often, not when his mother threw him out like he was nothing, and not whenever you would comfort him.

scaramouches chest filled with regret. he wishes he would have been there for you at least as much as he was there for you. he wishes he bought you more presents for even just putting up with him. he wishes he would have just gotten over his ego and thanked you. he would do all those things and so much more, just so he could repay you.

you remember the day so clearly, when kazuha confessed his love to you. his usually so casual demeanor was all gone, as his hands were shaking while holding a piece of paper. his face was bright red and his voice was shaking and cracking up, as he recited his self written poem for you. When he was done he wished for the earth to open up and swallow him whole.

when you started giggling he thought you were laughing at him. he didn't dare to look up at you, his gaze was only burning holes into the floor.

but when he really tensed up was when you jumped at him and threw your arms over his shoulders.

ever since then, kazuha had written so many poems for you, and you had stored them all very carefully. one after another.

one time for his birthday, you tried writing him one, and although it wasn't the best, he treasured it like nothing else.

but also he treasured you.

for your one year anniversary you gifted him an old gramophone. you weren't sure if he was really going to like it, but he adored it.

ever since that day, most evenings were spent dancing to music, time passing so much faster than it seemed. your hands were locked and one of kazuhas hands was resting on your waist. one of his hands went through your hair.

On the first day you danced with him, he realized how much he needed you. you were his light, his hope, his everything. it's why he calls you 'his star'

Unfortunately, every star dies one day.

if you would ask him, his star died way too early.

On the night your light faded, a shooting star crossed the sky. kazuha knows you're only supposed to make one wish, but all of them crossed his mind at once. he wished he could dance with you again, he wish his fingers could make his way through your soft hair once more, he wished he could gift you more poems he wrote, and watch your eyes light up like the night sky does when the stars start glowing.

his breath hitched when he felt your hand touch his cheek once more. you gave him a last smile, and a tear rolled down your cheek. your hand fell from his cheek, but kazuha caught it mid air, and he held it to his chest.

later, a poem could be found on your grave.

in a moment of sorrow,

please let me borrow,

your healing light once more,

before i am found at our seashore.

It was the last poem he ever wrote.

#! vivi views #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #xiao x reader #xiao genshin impact #xiao genshin x reader #wanderer #genshin wanderer #kunikuzushi #scaramouche #genshin scara #scara x reader #kazuha #kazuha x reader

101 notes · View notes

husbandograveyard · 5 months ago

Text

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ Part of my fluffember short writings - Masterlist ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ Xiao (genshin Impact ) X Genderneutral reader ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ Fluff - wc: 289 ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

It took you a while to find your way into Xiao’s heart. By nature he stays away from almost everyone, just doing his job, wandering, protecting, patrolling. It’s what he’s learned to do to protect himself from anymore heartache. It’s a sad side effect from losing so many people near and dear to him, his heart filled with so much grief, there’s only so much place for affection left.

And yet. You were there with your endless amounts of patience, the most delicious almond tofu he’s ever tasted, and a certain charm that he found himself so incredibly curious of. You never tried to impose yourself on him, always left before he had the opportunity to excuse himself. It made him curious, and despite knowing better, it made him yearn for you. For the next time you’d meet, for the next time you’d say his name, have a brief conversation with him. The truth was that you were also so very eager to get to know him, so very eager to get closer to him. But he had his walls up high, and you didn’t want to impose. You didn’t want to scare him away. So you ran before he could send you away, and just like that, he started to run after you.

And that’s how your conversations slowly became longer and longer. It’s why he started asking for you on days when you weren’t waiting for him. It’s why he came by more and more often. It’s why he checked up on you sometimes at moments when you weren’t even expecting him.

It took you a while to find your way into Xiao’s heart. But once you were in, he was never going to let you go.

#xiao x reader #xiao genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #xiao genshin impact #genshin impact #x reader #reader insert #short #fluffy #fluffember #2nd person pov #gn reader

69 notes · View notes

ms-demeanor · 10 months ago

Note

do you ever struggle with deciding what to eat due to adhd?? i enjoy cooking and i'm not a picky eater nor do i have sensitivities but i struggle so much deciding that i always end up eating cereal or donuts

"What do you want to do for dinner?" is a conversation that could easily start a massive fight in my family when I was a kid and is my least favorite conversation to have.

Fortunately (hah) I have so many food allergies that my options are pretty significantly limited so my decisions on food are all based on A) what I have in the house or could easily get, B) how tired I am, C) what I *can* eat, D) if we have the money for it.

My grocery shopping strategy is centered around these ideas, so to a certain extent I've pre-made those kinds of choices so our "we don't know what else to do for dinner" meals tend to default to eggs and toast, grilled cheese and tomato soup, or tofu and rice because that's the stuff we've got on-hand.

IDK. I'm not picky, it doesn't generally take me a lot of effort to make food, and my biggest ADHD issue is "i forgot to eat and now it's ten and we're too hungry to wait for a full meal to cook." Those are the days when I'll end up eating cereal for dinner or having an instant soup packet or something, but I try to avoid that because that tends to be a pretty expensive way to get food (so it costs less to make two meals of rice and tofu plus two meals of rice and eggs than it does to eat four packets of soup or a box of cereal).

Sometimes I wander around looking in the fridge and the pantry and on the counter then back to the fridge and don't find anything that I'm interested in eating - the "I want something but I don't know what I want" issue - but mostly my problem is "it has been eight hours since I woke up I should have breakfast oh SHIT i'm really hungry what can I eat *right now* okay yes i guess i will have ice cream for breakfast."

134 notes · View notes

percivaljacksons · 4 months ago

Text

those little town blues (pt 1)

the modern percabeth ghost whisperer au. girl, at this point you have to trust me. first 5k or so as i edit the big mama doc for ao3. sorry not sorry to tease! i'd give this section a t rating

“For someone who just moved here, you really know your way around,” Piper says. “I absolutely thought you were taking us to the wrong platform.”

Two descending notes play through the speaker above their heads. The Q train’s doors slide closed. The breaks release in a puffy exhale and the car lurches as they begin to move out of the Canal St station.

Annabeth shrugs. “I like research,” she says. “Figured if I was going to do the whole ‘move to New York as a broke twenty-something,’ I might as well be prepared for it.”

“What a load of baloney,” Percy says from somewhere behind her. “You were walking right for the Downtown platform, too. You could say ‘thank you,’ by the way.”

Piper doesn’t react—of course she doesn’t. She just tells Annabeth with a sheepish smile, “more than I did. God, this is so embarrassing, but I really did Uber everywhere for my first few weeks.”

“Asshole,” Percy cuts in again. “I can’t stand people who do that.”

Annabeth kicks one foot back as subtly as possible. She doesn’t feel it connect with his shin, but he does quiet down.

“You’re getting the hang of it,” Annabeth reassures her. “Silena said you moved here—what, two months before me?”

“Something like that.”

“Plus, I did a lot of exploring in the past few weeks and got turned around a lot of times. You’re seeing a well made facade.”

“Is that how you found that Wo Hop?” Piper asks. “God, I can’t get over that tofu. And it was in some random basement!”

While Piper waxes poetic about their lunch, Annabeth’s eyes slide to the left. It’s not an overly crowded subway car. There’s a couple pouring over the map on the wall, a short man reading a book in the seat parallel to the window, and around a dozen solo commuters buried in phones or listening to music.

But to Annabeth’s left, leaning against the door, is a man with short cropped hair and an angular jaw. His button up shirt is untucked, wrinkled, and saturated with blood. She has to breathe through her mouth because she can smell it wafting off of him. From the corner of her eye, she can spot the elderly woman trying to read over the shoulder of the man by the window, ranting a rant he can’t hear. And, of course, right behind her is Percy, dripping wet.

“I really hope you’re not about to take credit for finding Wo Hop on your own,” he says.

“...in an article, right?” Piper asks, forcing Annabeth to tune back in again.

“Yeah, about the James Beard Foundation Awards,” Annabeth says. “It’s officially an American Classic.”

“Fucking typical,” Percy says. “I’m not telling you where that halal cart is now.”

“So cool,” Piper enthuses. “I didn’t even realize how much food there was out there that I’ve never even tried, you know? This city is crazy.”

“Best city in the world,” Percy and Annabeth say in perfect unison.

Of course, only Annabeth and Percy know that.

It started on her third day in New York, because Annabeth has, in general, always had completely shit luck. With a week until her new job began and her boxes (almost) unpacked, she woke up to a sliver of perfect blue sky visible between the brick walls outside her window and decided to spend the day exploring.

While she waited for the shower to heat up, she drank a glass of water—straight from the tap—and looked around her joke of a studio apartment. Despite the near negative space she now called her own for the next twelve months, her singular closet was pitifully half empty.

Annabeth frowned into her water. Half full? She’d never had many clothes, was the point. The t-shirts and jeans she’d favored in high school had stopped fitting once she started doing track and field more seriously, and her college dorm room hadn’t offered an abundance of space, either.

She wandered back to the bathroom and stuck a hand under the tap. Only lukewarm. The previous two days' experience told her she had another minute before it would get hot, so she took out her phone and googled thrift stores nyc.

The results were almost too many to believe. She shook her head.

“Best city in the world,” she said to herself, and finally stripped down to step into the shower.

In the end, she chose a thrift store in lower Manhattan, a little to the east so it was on the yellow line and she wouldn’t have to transfer trains. It was close to Washington Square Park, too, so she could check that off her architecture bucket list. Just like that, she had a plan for the day—and Annabeth loved having a plan.

She flew down the four flights of stairs, keeping her eyes on her feet so she wouldn’t get drawn into whatever was going on with the man who always lingered on the second floor landing. He left something in his jacket pocket, but Annabeth had never stuck around long enough to hear what it was or who he needed to tell. She’d get around to it eventually. Probably.

After riding the N train two stops in the wrong direction, she managed to get on a Manhattan and Brooklyn bound W. It was all part of the learning curve. The car was near empty, so close to the origin in Astoria, so she found a seat by the window and watched as the lower buildings of northwest Queens morphed into the skyscrapers of Long Island City before the train finally went underground. She pulled a book out of her tote bag before long and focused her gaze on the paper, even though the letters were swirling around the page so aggressively that she couldn’t read a word.

Her dyslexia always got worse when she was stressed. She turned a page in her book, a perfect pantomime of reading, so that the three ghosts standing within fifteen feet of her don’t realize that she can both see and hear them.

Spirits, earthbound souls, whatever. They were all ghosts, really, haunting people or places or things. She thought maybe they were haunting this specific subway car, except a man in a navy suit got off at 59th street and one of them—the woman in bright red lipstick and a mink coat—followed him off.

Annabeth kept looking at her book, flipping forward a page every minute or so. She had long ago perfected the half-glazed over expression that tricked most ghosts into thinking she was just like everyone else—unable to see them. It was a small part of the reason she’d decided to move to New York: everyone here had that expression on. Everyone here avoided eye contact on the sidewalk and went about their business, so maybe—just maybe—Annabeth wouldn’t acquire her usual ‘rude and standoffish’ reputation.

One of the ghosts sat down next to her. He was mumbling in a language she didn't recognize. Hungarian, maybe—a relief. She wouldn’t have to try so hard to not react if he said something appalling.

Annabeth turned to the next page in her book. She didn’t even remember what it was about. The stops got more frequent in Manhattan, crawling at times only five blocks between stations after Times Square, before the W finally pulled into 8th Street-NYU.

Annabeth put her book back into her tote and stood, edging around the ghost’s legs with a mumbled, “excuse me.”

She realized her mistake two steps later, when the voice got panicked and excited, rapid-fire consonant heavy speech trying to get her attention again. Annabeth kept her head down and walked towards the closest exit like she knew it would take her where she wanted. It worked, either because he thought it was a fluke or he was tied enough to that train car to stay put, and when she walked up into the autumn sunlight she was once again alone.

Not unhaunted. She was never really unhaunted, but she could be—however briefly—alone.

Maps told her that the Buffalo Exchange was close, only a few blocks south. She made her way there, realized she was on the wrong side of the street, and blatantly jaywalked to get to her destination. One thing she certainly would not miss about California was driving and cars and mechanics. She hoped Clarisse would love the hunk of bolts Annabeth couldn’t have more joyously parted with.

The thrift store wasn’t too crowded inside, because it was around 11 on a Tuesday, so Annabeth took her time. She started in the back, sifting through women’s cut jeans and giving up quickly, moving to the men’s section in the front where the inseams were longer. She found a few potential successes, all dark wash enough that she could probably dress them up for work, and made her way towards one of the circular clothing racks in the middle of the shop.

Annabeth hadn’t lived on the east coast since she was twelve, but she remembered the cold bite of the winters. She didn’t have nearly enough sweaters to get her through January and February, only a few short months away. A few hoodies with stains and holes got flipped past, but eventually she came across a maroon crewneck with a faded lettering that said MONTAUK. She threw it on over her shirt and managed to catch her reflection in a nearby mirror—exactly the kind of baggy she’s always preferred. Perfect.

“That’s mine,” someone said.

Annabeth looked over and gasped. Standing next to her, soaked from head to foot, was a guy about her age. He was a bit taller, with dark hair plastered to his head and green eyes so bright they forced the air out of Annabeth’s lungs. Every inch of him was dripping water in the middle of the perfectly dry Buffalo Exchange.

“You can see me,” he realized, eyes getting wider. “You can actually—holy fuck.”

She bought the sweater, in the end, because she stopped letting ghosts decide what she was and wasn’t going to do a long time ago. Percy—I’m Percy, by the way, can you still see me?— didn’t seem to mind, even as she ignored him and checked out with her new pants and sweater.

“I know you can hear me,” Percy said, following her out the door. “You’re not a very good actor, you know.”

Annabeth pulled out her headphones and slipped them on. She fiddled with her phone, miming a call, and finally turned to face the very wet ghost beside her.

“Percy, you said?” She asked.

He grinned. “Yes! Yeah, I’m Percy. I can’t believe you can hear me. It’s, like, so great to talk to someone.”

“I’m Annabeth.” She didn’t reach out to shake his hand, because they wouldn’t be able to anyway. “I’m going to the park. Want to come?”

They walked the two blocks to the north side of the park, until Annabeth stood directly under Stanford White’s famous arch. She knew it already, of course—the Tuckahoe marble used to construct it, the fact that it commemorated the centennial of George Washington’s presidential address in 1789—but Annabeth’s favorite thing about architecture isn’t facts or materials. It’s the way she feels looking at it; it’s something about the innate nature of human beings and the way they just can’t help their desire to create.

She could see Percy out of the corner of her eye, watching her. As she stood there, her gaze still fixed upward, someone in a purple t-shirt walked right through him.

“Okay,” she finally said. “What’s your deal? Normally I’ve gotten a whole life story by now.”

“Normally,” he repeated. “This happen to you a lot?”

“Look, do you see a white light?” Annabeth asked, already losing her patience.

“A what?”

“God, I can really pick ‘em,” Annabeth muttered to herself. “A white light. Bright, blinding even. Maybe a loved one standing there waiting for you? Walk into it.”

“I—what?”

“Unless there’s something you’ve left unfinished?” Annabeth prompted. It usually went smoother if the ghost came to terms on their own, but this whole conversation was messing with Annabeth’s plan for the day. She wanted it over and done with.

“What are you talking about?” Percy asked, his accent hitting harder than it had before. His ah vowel was like an A and U and W smushed together. “Why are you the only one who can see me?”

Annabeth closed her eyes. “Fuck,” she said. “Seriously? This is just my luck.” She turned back to Percy, kind of vaguely relishing how no one around them seemed to care that she was talking to thin air. “You’re dead.”

Percy blinked at her. A drop of water made its way down the arch of his nose. “What?”

“I can see ghosts. Spirits. People who haven’t yet moved on.” She let that sink in for a moment, then added, “like you.”

“Moved on to what?” He asked, his voice getting louder with pure panic.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” she said. “I’m not dead. I just have the pleasure of seeing all of you on your journey in between.”

“Fuck. What the fuck?” Percy started to pace, his hands on his head. “I can’t be dead! That’s such bullshit. I’ve never even left the tri-state area! And I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, lady—”

“Annabeth.”

“—Annabeth, because there ain’t no fuckin’ light, alright? There’s just this stupid park and a bunch of asshole NYU students walking right through me, and apparently, the only person who can see me is a goddamn Yankees fan, which is fucking rich. And!” He turned back to her, an almost triumphant expression on his face. “And I bet you you’re not from here, am I right? No shot.”

“I’m from…” Annabeth trailed off. She could’ve said Virginia, or the Bay Area, or something else. In the end, she just confirmed his suspicion. “I’m not from here, you’re right. This is my third day in New York.”

That made him laugh uproariously, too dramatic to be earnest, his hands flung out to the sides. “Of course! A fucking transplant in a Yankees hat. I can hardly believe my luck.”

With him standing facing her once more, Annabeth finally saw the logo made dark by his wet t-shirt. A baseball with dark blue skyline and orange piping, Mets written out across the front.

“Are you done?” Annabeth asked. “I want to go see the narrowest house in the city next.”

“I’m not a tour guide,” he seethed.

“Which way is Bedford Street?”

He pointed behind him. “Like, six blocks that way.”

And so Annabeth’s first friend in the big city was a chronically damp, kind of asshole ghost named Percy.

“Silena said Piper liked you,” Clarisse says. They’re playing Battleship online as they FaceTime, both unwilling to admit that they want to talk for the sake of talking, and certainly unwilling to admit they might miss each other.

It’s one thing to move across the country to an apartment you’ve never actually seen for the sake of a life you think you might like, and another to do it knowing you’ll leave behind the two best friends you’ve made in your entire twenty-two years on Earth.

That are still alive, at least.

“She was cool,” Annabeth says. “So different from Silena, though. We got greasy Chinese food.”

Clarisse snorts. “Uh, yeah. Duh. Get sunk, by the way.” Her missile lands in open water. “Seriously? What the hell.”

“Be better,” Annabeth replies, confidently clicking on G3. Sure enough, a tiny explosion graphic goes off on G3.

“What the—is there someone behind me giving you clues? I know that’s how you kept winning poker night in junior year—”

“I can’t see ghosts through FaceTime, that would be ridiculous,” Annabeth scoffs.

“Oh, that’s ridiculous,” Clarisse scowls. “Sure.” One of her shots finally connects, but Annabeth’s still smiling, two ships in the lead.

“Did I tell you I’ve got a new one?” Annabeth asks, pulling her fidget cube out from its drawer and flicking one side of it.

“A Casper? No.”

“His name’s Percy. He’s wet.”

“Is that some kind of horrible New York slang?”

“What?” Annabeth laughs. “No, he’s actually wet. Like, dripping water.”

“That’s new.”

“Plus, he had no idea he was dead. Bizarre.”

Clarisse frowns. Clarisse always looks like she’s frowning, so it’s really hard to tell when she actually is, but at this point Annabeth’s had years of practice. “That’s happened before,” she says.

Annabeth gets a flash of sun-bleached blond hair and that awful scar in her mind’s eye before she manages to shove it back into the box in the corner of her mind. “S’not common, though,” she says. “Usually means the death was traumatic.”

“Not to play Silena,” Clarisse says slowly, finally managing to figure out which way Annabeth’s submarine is pointing, “but should you be doing this?”

“Talking to you?” Annabeth snarks. Her next shot misses.

“Getting wrapped up in helping a ghost your first few weeks in New York. Isn’t that why you left California? Oh, get fucked, I knew that was your battleship.”

Annabeth shuts that right down. “I left because I got a job. I knew New York would have a lot of earthbound spirits; that was kind of a given, it’s huge. And yeah, I did say I was going to try and focus on me a little more, but…I don’t know, there’s something about him.”

Clarisse looks like she doesn’t know what to do with that. “He’s…nice?” She asks.

Annabeth laughs. “Uh, no. I’m not sure I would be if I just found out I was dead, so.” She shrugs. “I won’t be able to help him cross over until he starts to remember more, anyway. Googling ‘Percy NYC’ got me a dollar pizza place in the West Village and some place called Percy’s Tavern that isn’t even open anymore.”

“Silena’s going to be so pissed that all we talked about on our call is your new familiar.”

Annabeth sinks Clarisse’s final ship. “No, she’s not.”

Clarisse raises her eyebrows. “Oh, yeah?”

“Mhm.” Annabeth smirks. “Because you get to tell her that the new ghost is, like, seriously hot.”

Clarisse just shakes her head, grinning. “She is going to love that. Damn. Well, good luck. I’ll call whenever my ego can handle a rematch.”

“Okay,” Annabeth says softly. “Bye.”

“Love you. No homo.”

Before Annabeth can reply, she gets hung up on.

“Typical,” she says to her empty studio apartment. No one, alive or dead, replies.

“Alright,” Annabeth says as she steps out of her office building, her headphones on. “Where am I getting lunch?”

“I’m not telling you,” Percy sulks. “You just abuse my knowledge. I spent a lifetime accumulating this stuff, only to give it away to some yuppie. Barf.”

Annabeth picks a direction and starts walking. “I read that Ess-a-Bagel is good,” she says, already knowing what will happen next with only a week and a half of experience.

“Overrated,” Percy says. He can’t seem to help himself. “Like, it’s good, but they only put the seeds n’ shit on one side. Shmear options are okay,” he adds a little begrudgingly.

“Like, cream cheese?”

“Like, cream cheese?” Percy mocks, his voice high-pitched and whiny. “If you ask for them to scoop out your bagel, I’m actually going to start haunting you.”

“As opposed to what this is,” Annabeth murmurs to herself, well aware that he can hear her.

“Hey! I’m, like, super chill. I haven’t even tried to get your lights to flicker.”

“You’ve never even appeared in my apartment,” Annabeth acquiesces. “Or at work.”

He shrugs, falling into step beside her. “Seems rude.”

Annabeth almost stops in the middle of the sidewalk, she’s so surprised. “Okay, that’s a first.”

“Are the people you see always rude?”

She wrinkles her nose. “It’s more like…it’s all on their terms. No one’s ever been that concerned about appearing in the middle of my calc final, for example.”

“Yikes.”

“Exactly.” Despite having the light, she looks both ways before joining the crowd in crossing 6th. One of the idling cars honks at her.

Percy flips the car off. It doesn’t make a difference to anyone but her, but she appreciates it. “If you want to spend too much money on a bagel, I’m not going to stop you,” he tells her.

Annabeth walks into Herald Square; she’d rather go through a tiny park than down the crowded sidewalk. “Where would you go for a bagel?”

“Absolute Bagels. 108 and Broadway.”

She snorts out a laugh. “You knew that answer way too quickly.”

“I’m tired of these bougie, overpriced bagels! Absolute is good enough I drag my ass to the west side—that’s how you know it’s legit.”

“So you’re from the east side,” Annabeth follows, nodding. “Okay, that’s something. Remember anything more specific?”

“Yeah.” Percy grins proudly, pushing his wet bangs out of his face. “El Barrio, baby! Proud of it. Just off 2nd and…” His grin fades. “Shit. Goddamn it.”

“It’s okay,” Annabeth soothes. “That’s something. I’m assuming that’s…a Hispanic neighborhood?”

“Spanish Harlem,” he says. “East side, north of, like, 96.” He wrinkles his nose in distaste. “These days, north of 110.”

They’re already on the other side of Herald Square; Percy picks up into a jog. Annabeth follows suit, only realizing that he’s trying to catch the light before it changes a few seconds later. They make it to the other side and slow back to a walk.

“If you want,” Annabeth offers, “I could go there. With you, I mean. We could walk around, maybe spark a memory.”

“You’d do that?” Percy asks, his voice almost severe in its sudden quiet volume.

Annabeth shrugs. She pauses on the corner, barely a moment of hesitation, but Percy points diagonally to the side of the street she wants to be on. With a wince of thanks, she says, “I want to see more of the city. Might as well check off a good deed while I’m at it.”

“Well, I can make it worth your while,” he says with a confident nod. “D’you like Italian food?”

“Am I human?”

“Okay, so we’ll swing by Patsy’s, then. Oh, or Sam’s! And that bakery with the killer conchas—”

“I have no idea what that is, but I’m sold,” Annabeth says. “Why does Spanish Harlem have Italian food?”

He shrugs, sending tiny flicks of water flying. “Dunno. Better Italian food than Little Italy, though.”

“Haven’t seen it yet,” Annabeth says, pushing her way into the surprisingly large bagel shop and immediately struggling to focus.

“It’s mostly gone, honestly. Hey, you good?”

“Hm?” Annabeth blinks away from the menu behind the counter. “Oh, yeah, it’s just loud in here. You weren’t kidding about the cream cheese.”

Percy doesn’t say much as they wait in line, or as she orders—toasted sesame bagel with olive cream cheese—but he sort of squints his eyes, like he’s sizing her up.

“What?” She hisses out of the corner of her mouth as the cashier rings up her order.

Percy shrugs, the movement of his shoulders just barely visible out of the corner of her eye. “Nothing.”

She raises as much of an eyebrow as she dares, smiling quickly at the cashier, tapping her credit card, and hoping to get back outside as quickly as possible.

“It’s clearly not nothing,” Annabeth says once they’re on their way again. The bagel is hot even through the paper bag it’d been stuffed in.

Percy moves like he wants to grab the door for her, then awkwardly follows her as she jerks it open herself. “I just think you’re a sociopath for getting olive cream cheese.”

Annabeth rolls her eyes. “You’re so dramatic. Ever heard of not yucking someone else’s yum?”

“Nope. Where we headed?”

“I thought we’d sit in the park?”

“The squirrels are going to maul you.”

“Well, you’ve never seen me fight before.”

Privately, even as Percy laughs, she casts a few suspicious glances at lingering squirrels as they make their way into the park. Most are high in the trees or lingering around the trash cans. She picks a free table that’s far away from both, sits down, and kicks out the empty chair so that Percy can sit down, too.

“I feel like a food critic,” she says, unwrapping her lunch. She opens the bagel using two hands to get the visual, her stomach rumbling at the sight of cream cheese going a little runny from being sandwiched between two warm halves of bagel. “Except kind of like I’m cheating, you know? I haven’t had to look up any new things to try in two weeks.”

“You’re welcome,” Percy says. He rubs at one eye and flicks the water off his hand after. “But I feel like you should know that I’m not telling you everything.”

Annabeth gasps in mock offence. “But you’re so endeared by me.”

“Lie. I’m living vicariously through you.”

“By not telling me everything?” Annabeth asks cheekily, taking her first, relatively heavenly bite.

“You know what?” Percy says, clearly trying to sound pissed off but failing by laughing halfway through his sentence. He flicks some water at her, and Annabeth swears she can feel it land on her arm.

“What’re these big secrets you’ve been keeping?” She asks. “It’s not like I’ve gotten food poisoning or anything.”

Percy sighs, still kind of smiling. “Well, then they wouldn’t be secrets, would they? Gotta keep some stuff for the locals.”

Annabeth pouts. Percy rolls his eyes.

“Fine, whatever.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing back across the street. “You didn’t have to wait on line in there.”

Annabeth chews slowly, trying to figure out what’s been lost in translation. “I…ordered in person?” She says. “I didn’t use, like, an app or something.”

Percy looks just as confused. “Yeah, I was there. I’m saying you could’ve skipped the line.”

“No, you said I didn’t need to be online.”

“Yeah,” he repeats a little slower. “You didn’t have to wait on the line. Have you, like, stopped being able to hear me?”

“Who says wait on the line?” Annabeth asks incredulously. “You wait in a line, Percy.”

“Everybody says that! There’s an invisible line on the ground, and we all stand on it.”

Annabeth takes a bite without looking away from him, wondering how she ended up here. “I’ve literally never heard that before in my life,” she says through her mouthful. “Online is the internet. You wait in a line. I live in a city. I ride in a car.”

“You get on a bus. I ride on the subway. And I wait,” Percy says, leaning in, “on line.”

“Maybe you’re not dead,” Annabeth theorizes. “Maybe you’re a demon raised from hell, come to torment me. Maybe you’re from an alternate universe!”

“This is what I get for revealing the schmear only express line at Ess-a-Bagel.” Percy shakes his head. “I should’a known.”

“What?” Annabeth asks. “I didn’t have to wait in that stupid fucking line?”

Percy throws his hands up. “That’s what I’ve been saying!”

“Tell me that before next time. You had to wait in the line, too.”

He shrugs. “Not so bad. I’ve got nowhere to be.”

It sends her into a little bit of a tailspin. Sure, he’s actively dripping water on an otherwise dry and sunny day, but he’s around her age and died relatively recently, if the in-style cut of his jeans is anything to go by. He’s easy to talk to. It’s easy to forget he’s dead.

Annabeth takes another bite of her bagel. It’s a little strange that the sesame seeds are only on one side, but it’s just the right amount of chewy and pretty big for what she paid. The olive cream cheese is more of a disappointment, but she’s not going to tell Percy that.

“This is really good,” she says. “Your place is better? Or are you going to gatekeep that now?”

“Oh, shut up. It’s not like Absolute is a big secret, they’ve got a crazy line all weekend.”

“Good to know.”

“I don’t fuck around when it comes to bagels, Annabeth. Honestly, have any of my food recommendations let you down?”

“No,” she agrees. “Why do you think you remember all of that so well?”

He shrugs, his eyes sliding to the side. Annabeth doesn’t think he’s particularly interested in the squirrel eating a cigarette butt, so he probably just wants to avoid looking at her. It strikes her somewhere beneath her ribs, how sad it is, to wander around your home with only the innocuous pieces left.

Not for the first time, she wonders what will happen when she dies. Will someone see her? Will she even know that she’s dead? Will she be here, or in San Francisco, or on Berkeley’s campus, or back in Richmond? Has she ever known a place her soul would cling to?

“What’s your favorite thing about New York?” Annabeth asks, deciding suddenly to change tactics. “Since you keep insisting us transplants don’t know—”

“—know shit about shit,” Percy finishes. He looks back at her. “Uh, it’s the best city in the world.”

Annabeth rolls her eyes. “I know that. That’s why I moved here. You could argue that means I love it more than you.”

“Shut up,” Percy says, his face screwed up with indignation. “No, it doesn’t!”

“Great comeback,” she drawls.

“Okay, I love the people,” Percy answers. “I love New Yorkers, and the way we treat each other.”

“Like?” Annabeth prompts him.

“We leave each other alone, but if I’m short a dollar on groceries there’s almost always someone who’ll cover me. And I just…I love walking places, and the subway, and I love it when I hop the turnstyle so smooth you can’t even tell I jumped it. I love the old guys who play chess in the park. The graffiti. I love riding the bus at night and Biggie, and shitting on Jersey and the goddamn Mets. I love not giving a fuck, I guess.”

“Well, that’s things you love, but what’s your favorite?” Annabeth pushes. “Mine is easy, it’s the—”

“—the architecture, I know,” Percy finishes again. “I like that, too. I…well, maybe it’s the food. The food here is the best.”

Percy has admitted to never going anywhere else, so Annabeth doesn’t really know how he knows it’s the best, but she doesn’t call him on it.

“But my favorite…” Percy goes a little still, like he’s remembered something. “My favorite thing when I was a kid is gone now,” he says.

“Yeah?” Annabeth prompts

“Yeah. It was on the west side, if you can believe it. When you got off an uptown 1 at 79th, if you went up the staircase that took you to the northwest corner—there used to be a Circuit City there, next to the DSW.”

“There’s a name I haven’t heard in a while,” Annabeth mutters.

“Yeah, it closed ages ago, but it was in this little, two story building. And it meant, when you were going up the stairs, if you looked up all you could see was the sky. Like the sky was the ocean and you got to go down the ladder and jump into it.” He goes quiet for a moment. Then, “now there’s an ugly fucking apartment building.”

Annabeth resists the urge to scoff. “You think any new building is ugly.”

“That’s not true! I like the Jenga building downtown.”

“The Jenga…” Annabeth thinks. “You mean 56 Leonard?”

“Is 56 Leonard the building that looks like a wonky Jenga tower?”

“I—” She sighs. “Yes. But it’s a Herzog & de Meuron.”

“You’re a hotdog and demure one.”

“You’re not that funny.”

He shrugs. “I dunno, you’re smiling.”

You’re flirting, Annabeth realizes. You’re flirting with a ghost, and he’s flirting back.

“I can show you the ugly building some time,” he offers, blinking some water out of his eyelashes. “It’s right by the Natural History Museum. You like museums, right?”

“My second favorite thing about New York,” Annabeth confirms, and just manages to stop herself from saying it’s a date.

Her dad texts her on a Saturday morning, the first time he’s reached out since she moved to the east coast, and his message reads [ Hi, Annabeth. I hope you’re settling in well at your new job. How is New York? Let me know when you might be free to talk.]

She doesn’t respond for three days. What’s there to say? She wishes she could explain to him that you can walk south on the east side of Broadway, from Grand to Howard, and you can look up and see the top of One World Trade peak through the buildings. You can look down so you won’t trip over the subway grate, and when you look back up again 56 Leonard has taken its place.

She could tell him that if you walk past the entrance to the NQWR to the corner of Canal, you can see all of Herzog & de Meuron’s creativity, bottom to top, and you can decide that from then on out you’ll be calling it the Jenga Tower. She could type it out, or even try and call and inevitably tell him in a voicemail, but he wouldn’t get it. He’d probably say something ridiculous, like ask what Jenga was, or tell her about an exhibit that has something to do with planes that’s soon to arrive in the tri-state area, and Annabeth would remember why she hadn’t reached out either.

Instead, she tells him about work, and doesn’t talk about buildings or bagel shops or the bitter and charming conundrum of a ghost that’s taken to appearing at her shoulder as she makes a city her father hates her home.

#ghost whisperer au #my writing #percabeth #percabeth au #sorry to be chaotic again! but its fun #if u like a part of this and tell me what part i will immediately go into a fugue state where i write nonstop for many days #xoxo

66 notes · View notes